A/N:

shoji - rice paper doors

kumicho - leader of the yakuza

tamago - egg

seiza - kneeling postion

The gardens of Hanamura were known throughout the village for their unearthly beauty. In the spring, cherry blossoms carpeted the tiled paths with delicate white petals. They slipped through the cracks in windows and under doors, saturating the Shimada's castle with a subtly sweet scent. It seeped into their fabric, their sheets and pillows. And as such, became inextricably linked with the memory of home.

When Hanzo woke that morning, it was to a scent so familiar and strangely present that he could not dismiss it as the remnants of a dream. There were other oddities as well, besides the uncomfortable tickling sensation stemming from the feather-light weight sitting upon the tip of his nose.

The mattress beneath him was too thick. It did not creak as he moved, as the thin cots at Watchpoint were wont to do. The sheets wrapped around his person didn't crinkle with the rise and fall of his chest, made too stiff after an excessive helping of starch. They were smooth, and softer than the finest silk crafted by the best artisans in Japan.

Wherever he was waking now, it was not his quarters in Overwatch. Had someone moved him? Had he been drugged? Or was he actually still lying asleep in his bed, convinced of his wakefulness while he continued to dream?

Slowly, so as not to disturb it, he enclosed a hand over the weight upon his nose, then opened his eyes to see the wrinkled pink and white edges of the sakura. Opening his palm, he watched as the slight draft in his room carried it away, pulling it towards the open window at his bedside.

Bare feet hit a solid wooden floor that smelled of pine and cedar. The robes draped loosely around him slipped from his shoulders as he stood, and as he paused to adjust them, his hands found lean edges and sharp angles where once there had been compact muscle, earned from a decade of practice and a life perpetually on the run.

He slid open the wooden shoji frames, the intricate ink designs staining the translucent paper in arcs and whirls striking a nostalgic chord within him, along with a thrill of fear that expanded exponentially at the sight beyond the porch. Fog hung like a veil over shrubs, bushes, and low hanging branches of the tall trees that couldn't quite rise high enough to shut out the view of the village below. Its inhabitants were already awake. Hanzo could make out their profiles from where he stood, and though the details of their features escaped his sight, he could name a man by his limp, a woman by the way she fashioned her hair into a lopsided bun. He had burned their names and faces into his memory long ago.

But how was it that he looked upon them now?

Dread already pooling in his stomach, heavy and ice cold, Hanzo reached behind him. His knuckles lightly brushed against a curtain of meticulously groomed black hair cascading over his white robes and down his back.

Though he had been raised to aspire to the way of the shinobi, it was the samurai's Bushido that had awed him as a child. They wore their hair long to symbolize their strength of character, and also as a symbol of their skill, for samurai, when they fell into disgrace or suffered a humiliating defeat, were expected to slice off their topknot to symbolize their lower status.

Hanzo could not say for certain if his attraction to their customs could have been his own small rebellion against the life that had been chosen for him, but he had always maintained the length and quality of his hair as he reached adulthood. It had been a point of pride.

But he had not worn it so long since…

"Anija!" He spun around in time to see his younger brother march into the room, an unpleasant twist to his mouth already present before either of them had exchanged a word. There was a patch of green grass growing atop his head, something Hanzo realized belatedly was actually the spiked hairstyle he'd dyed shortly before their father's death. Genji looked him up and down, bemused by his undressed state, though his general demeanor remained cold. "Akemi-san asked me to come wake you. It's time for breakfast."

Hanzo stared, mouth agape and utterly speechless. There was a light flush to his brother's cheeks – he might have already gone for a run that morning. It made sense. Genji could never stand to remain within the walls of the Shimada clan's headquarters for longer than he could help it. He was always finding excuses to leave.

His thick, dark brows, furrowed due to his continued silence, and strong chin were from their father, but there was a softness to his gaze that Hanzo knew he had inherited from their mother. It was because of their resemblance, in both appearance and personality, that their father had always found it fit to dote on him.

"Hanzo?" Seeing the first hints of concern begin to steadily overwriting the weeks and months of earned resentment Genji harbored for him, Hanzo forced himself to nod, anything to stave off a worry he did not deserve from the whole and healthy younger brother whose body he'd once destroyed, and with the very hands that now shook at his sides.

Swallowing hard, Hanzo managed, "Your hair…" Instantly, Genji was on guard again.

"Again? How long are you going to be on my case about it, Hanzo? Can't you just-"

"It suits you."

For a time, Genji's mouth continued to move without producing any sound, until finally the shock subsided enough for him to string a single word together. "What?"

At his utter bewilderment, Hanzo almost smiled. "You heard me." He crossed the room to flick his little brother's forehead protector, now convinced that he was dreaming. And that, for once, the dream was not a nightmare. "Don't cover it up today. I'd like to see it."

Genji fiddled with the metal guard, straightening it, before taking it off entirely. At that, Hanzo smiled gently. He hadn't forgotten how much he missed this sight, not for an instant. But seeing his little brother's boyish features again brought such a bittersweet relief that his throat and eyes itched uncomfortably. He stepped back, ducked his head, and coughed, hoping that would be enough to divert his brother's suspicions.

It wasn't. "Are you feeling alright?" How long had they been estranged at this point? How many harsh words had he thrown at him? Yet, even still…

Hanzo looked up to meet Genji's anxious gaze, and nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Okay," Genji said, dropping the issue with visible reluctance. Had they been on better terms, he might have pursued it, but Hanzo imagined Genji was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. If this dream was taking place when it appeared to be, then they could rarely even hold a conversation without it devolving into vitriol, years of repressed anger bubbling to the surface with every heated exchange.

While they walked to the dining room, where Akemi had arranged for them a breakfast of rice and tamago – a meal which usually wouldn't require her complete focus, but Hanzo supposed she'd sent Genji to wake him in the hopes that they would relearn how to behave civilly towards each other – Genji mentioned that he would be going out with friends, and that he wouldn't be home until later that night.

Having been in the middle of pulling out a chair at the long table to sit, Hanzo sat a little heavily in his seat, unable to completely mask his surprise. He could not remember the last time Genji had shared with him his plans or the company he kept. Usually, he left without a word, returning when it pleased him.

Genji, mistaking the silence for dissatisfaction, dug into his rice with a moody violence, clearly thinking his older brother's softening towards him had been some manner of illusion or a brief leave of his senses. He continued to quietly stab his meal until Hanzo said, "That is fine."

Chopsticks hovering above his bowl, forgotten, Genji sputtered, "Are you sure? We have training later, and you've kind of been on my case about it ever since," Hanzo noticeably flinched. Genji abruptly changed gears, "ever since I can remember."

"You were planning to skip, anyways, correct? I will get one of our retainers to train with me tonight."

There was a bounce to Genji's step when they cleared the dishes, then offered them to the Shimada's kitchen staff to wash and dry while they set about planning the rest of their day. Hanzo, for his part, knew that he could not spend the rest of the day in his sleep garments.

Before they left to go their separate ways, Akemi, a middle-aged woman with a red-streaked bob, exited from the kitchens and hailed them. She tended to personally craft the majority of their meals, as she'd worked for the Shimada clan since her adolescence and thus knew their individual preferences well. "Hanzo!"

He paused, allowing her to catch up. Upon glimpsing the friendly smile she offered them, he fought down a wave of shame. What happened to those who worked for the Shimada after he abandoned the clan? Did Akemi still smile like this now?

Struggling to keep the strain out of his voice, he returned her greeting, listening politely when she explained that the Elders wanted to meet with him.

Catching his eye, Genji offered a helpless shrug. Then he noticed that the color had suddenly abandoned Hanzo's face, leaving him pale and lightheaded. He felt as though he would sway if he moved, would certainly fall.

Beside him, Genji loudly cleared his throat. "I think I'll stick around, after all." He winked at Akemi to distract from the hand he'd laid on Hanzo's arm to steady him. "It's not everyday I get to have lunch with my older brother, right?"

Clapping her hands in the excitement and relief that came with seeing the brothers finally getting along, Akemi darted back into the kitchens to arrange for a very special assortment of raw fish and sake for the two.

Though Genji didn't ask, there were questions in the grip that tightened at her departure.

Without a word, Hanzo jerked away from his touch, then disappeared into his room to find a suitable outfit for his confrontation with the Elders.

He now knew exactly which day this was.

"You must bring your younger brother to heel, Hanzo." He gritted his teeth, chafing in the seiza position. It was a gesture of a respect these men and women looking down on him might have once deserved, but no longer. "The other clans will view his persistent disobedience as your weakness." How had he once silently endured this poison without question?

His hands, sitting on his knees, curled into fists. Why had he trusted them? Why had he feared them?

Why hadn't he disobeyed?

"Every man has a weakness." The Elders quieted. They had not granted leave for him to speak, but Hanzo was not the child he had once been. He did not require their permission, nor did he yearn for their approval. "Forgive my impertinence, Elders, but with all your great wisdom, how can you believe otherwise?" He raised his head, defiant. "What better way to protect mine than to choose it myself? A weakness I am not aware of can easily be used against me, but a weakness of my own choosing? Would that not be preferred?"

"If you choose to allow your brother to run wild," an older woman's voice interjected. Hanzo stared into the dim lighting of the Elder's quarters to spot the white bun she'd wrapped her hair in as she continued," as your father once did, then the strength of your leadership will come into question."

"I have no need for allies who are so easily swayed."

The main speaker, a frail, severe old man, narrowed his eyes dangerously at Hanzo's confident response, "We have told you what is expected of you, what you must do to secure your place at the head of this clan."

"And I will take your words under advisement." Impatient to leave, Hanzo climbed to feet. It served the duel purpose of underlining the point he'd tried to convey – the Elders needed to remember that, however young he was, it was him, and not they, who ruled the clan.

When he was at the door, Hanzo heard the Elder who'd been most adamant that he corral his younger brother say, "Do you truly wish to start your reign by making an enemy of your council?"

Gripping the frame until it bit into his palm, Hanzo fired back, "And you? Do you truly wish to start the reign of a new kumicho by becoming his enemy?"

He stalked out of the room without turning back, nearly running into Genji, who'd been waiting directly outside the room the entire time. His eyes were large, round and frightened. He took Hanzo aside, maintaining physical contact in a way that suggested a very real fear that his brother would vanish in front of him if he didn't. "What's gotten into you, anija? The Elders have ordered the deaths of other clansmen for less!"

Gently, Hanzo tried to pry him off. It proved to be a difficult task. "I will be fine, Genji. Not even the Elders would kill the eldest son of the Shimada clan."

Glancing nervously to the side, he still didn't look convinced. "Maybe I should stay here tonight. Keep an eye on things, just in case."

Abruptly, Hanzo felt sick to his stomach. He shook his head, insisted that Genji should spend the night with his friends, as he had planned.

Eventually, Genji relented, and they parted on better terms than they had in ages.

That night, Hanzo waited up in the shrine for his brother to return home, until the night turned into day and the day turned into weeks. He waited until they found his body in a ditch, decayed almost beyond recognition. The coroner reported the cause of death as an overdose, but he knew better than to believe the words of an official paid off by the clan.

Even knowing his weakness, Hanzo had been powerless to protect it.

let me have this dream

"Anija!" Hanzo's eyes shot open to see his brother hovering over him. "Didn't peg you for a deep sleeper, Hanzo." Genji's smile was smug, like it was a victory to catch his brother in a state of imperfection.

This interaction went much the same way as the first, except Hanzo was quicker in his responses, determined to start the day without the discrepancies of the first. Still, he couldn't help but compliment Genji's hairstyle, if only because the urge to see again the startled smile that had curved his mouth and crinkled his eyes was too great to resist.

He was not cold to his brother during breakfast, but not overly affectionate either, answering Genji's announcement of his evening plans with a noncommittal grunt. This time, his brother did wait outside the doors when he spoke with the Elders.

His legs ached from being in the seiza position for so long as they repeatedly drilled into him the importance of reining in Genji's frivolity and spending. "He cannot be allowed to continue squandering our goodwill," the old man from before told him, as severe as ever.

"Then let him leave." The words were out before Hanzo had the chance to consider whether saying them would be wise. Judging from the sudden silence that draped over the room, it wasn't.

"Has he expressed that wish to you?" It was the wizened woman in the back, staring thoughtfully down at Hanzo with sunken eyes that appeared black and predatory in the paltry light.

"No," Hanzo amended quickly, hoping against hope that they would let this drop. "It was merely a suggestion."

When night approached, he rushed to the shrine to await his brothers returned, fully intending to enter the village and retrieve him by the scruff of his ridiculous green head if he didn't show up in an hour. But he did.

He ran up the steps, past the columns, looking giddy and flushed. He waved upon seeing his brother waiting for him, believing the grim scowl adorning his features to be Hanzo's default setting when he missed training. Thus, he didn't think much of it until Hanzo, mirroring Genji's own actions following his first disastrous meeting with the Elders, took him by the shoulders, and told him to leave.

Genji blinked dumbly, certain he hadn't heard him correctly. "You're not actually asking me to leave, are you?"

"There is nothing for you here, Genji."

"First you try to force me to be more involved with the family, and now you're trying to chase me away?" His mouth twisted bitterly. "I guess I should have seen this coming."

He tried to push Hanzo away, but the archer held him fast, desperation making him strong. "No! That's not what I'm trying to do. But it's too dangerous for you here." He willed him to understand. "If you run, you will be chased, but if you stay here, you will die." Even losing him to Overwatch would be preferable to that.

Though he still didn't know where this urgency was coming from, the truth in Hanzo's words was unmistakable. Always knowing exactly when his brother was lying had been a point of pride for Genji when they were younger. He sighed, running a hand through the loose strands of his hair. "Okay. Let's say I believe you – what will happen to you? If they find out you let me escape…" He wrestled with himself, before gripping Hanzo's shoulders in return and blurting, "Come with me."

He looked like he couldn't believe what he'd just said, but didn't recant on the offer, and Hanzo entertained the idea for a moment, thinking of a life on the run together, of maybe learning how to be brothers again. But someone had to stay behind to stall the assassins, maybe even keep them from ever hunting Genji if he could. Being the heir and rising kumicho had to count for something.

He could read the rejection, the hurt in his brother's eyes when he pulled away, shaking his head. Even in a dream, there were things he could not have. "I'm so-"

There was a sound like something being thrown at a high-speed, and then Genji was torn from him by the arrow embedding itself in his chest. He stumbled back against a wooden column, gaping silently as the blood began to flow freely over his shirt.

When he began to slide, Hanzo lurched forward to catch him, pulled him close until his head lolled against his chest and then watched in anguish as the light left his eyes. He screamed for a doctor, for Mercy, for anyone to come and save his brother, but only the assassin in the rafters listened. Only he heard.

And then he was gone to report the completion of his mission.

And Hanzo was alone.

let me have this dream

"Anija?" Hanzo woke with a telling wetness still tracking his cheeks. He sat up to see Genji standing at the foot of his bed, a soft look gracing his boyish features. Looking away, he awkwardly cleared his throat. "I miss him, too."

Vulnerable. That was how Genji looked, standing there, waiting for his answer, but Hanzo couldn't bring himself to respond in kind. "I will be out in a minute, Genji." He wiped the streaks away with the back of his hand, then threw his legs over the side of his bed, staring determinedly at the wall as he said, "Do not wait for me."

It was a clear dismissal, and Genji stormed out without another word, his emotions always running unchecked and rampant.

Once the sliding doors were yanked shut behind him, with a force that made their frames shudder, Hanzo leaned forward, holding his head in his hands.

By the time he was dressed, Genji was already gone. It was exactly as it had been the first time he'd lived through this cursed day.

He ate his rice slowly, thanking Akemi with the cool politeness that was expected of him when she left the kitchen to inform him that the Elders desired his presence. Her cheer was dampened somewhat, but there was no way to tell her that what happened between him and Genji wasn't her fault, that their relationship had started breaking down long ago, little by little, and too slowly for him to notice until they couldn't look at each other without seeing the other's faults and little else.

He had been Genji's hero, once. He had not forgotten. There were times when he would wonder why that had changed, but now he knew. Their battle in the temple did not mark the first time he had chosen the clan over his brother. It was merely the culmination of a lifetime's worth of poor decisions.

Genji had left him to shoulder every burden alone – the clan, the Elders, the welfare of the village, and the arrangements for their father's funeral. And he had resented him for it. But when had Hanzo ever reached out to him? He'd worn his duty and sense of honor like spiked armor to keep anyone from getting close enough to touch. He'd shut Genji out.

Was it any wonder that when their father had died, he'd tried to find solace and belonging outside the family? What reason had Hanzo given him to stay?

But he kept those thoughts to himself as he wished Akemi well. It would all be over soon.

When the Elders asked him to control his brother, he did not interrupt or argue. He repeated words in the dark that he'd thought he'd never have to say again. They ate at him from the inside, corroding his stomach, eating through his tongue before finally falling from his lips in the form of a strained whisper.

He kept his head low when he promised to bring him back to the fold, then waited for their dismissal, before crossing the floor in steady, unhurried steps until he was past the exit and free of their watchful gaze.

He sank against the wall, biting hard on his lower lip to force the anguished cry rising within him back down.

He'd done it, hadn't he? The Elders would not suspect any defiance from him, but that did not mean he could lower his guard. The assassin in the rafters could still be there, with orders to act if he reneged on his word to persuade Genji to begin behaving in a manner befitting of a Shimada.

As long as Genji was expendable, he would always be in danger. That was what his experiences had taught him.

Swallowing back the bile rising in his gorge, Hanzo pushed off the wall, composed himself, then strode purposefully towards his room. There was still some time before Genji would return, before his hands would be forced to once more hold a sword.

Until that time, he would rest beneath the cherry blossoms, and watch as the villagers went blissfully about their lives.

"Hanzo!" Their blades met and scraped and slid beneath temple's high ceiling. The scroll, unbloodied still, seemed to mock and taunt, as though it were merely waiting to be drenched in a shower of Genji's blood once more. And Genji was shouting at him, had been shouting since Hanzo first ran at him with a gleaming weapon in his hands. "Talk to me, Hanzo! What's going on?!"

It had to look real.

But he hated it. He hated the blade with a ferocity that burned in his chest, hated hearing his little brother, panicked and confused, beg him to stop his assault.

Genji followed the arc of Hanzo's strike, allowing him to break the lock. He sprinted to the side, putting distance between them as he continued to try and talk him down. Hanzo hesitated in his pursuit, reluctant to press him, knowing he had to if this was going to work. He couldn't afford to waver in his resolve, not if Genji was going to live. "You have to fight me, Genji." It should have come out biting, scornful. It had once. "Stay your blade now and you will die."

Now, however, weariness, fatigue, and a bone-deep sadness weighed him down. When Genji spoke, it was quiet and measured and calm, as though he were speaking to an injured, frightened creature. "I will never fight you."

Hanzo bowed his head. "You are a disgrace to the clan, Genji." He pretended not to hear the catch in his voice as he struggled to keep up the pretense. He stared up at Genji, looking for all the world like he was seeing him for the last time. "You are nothing."

That was wrong. Genji was so much more than he would ever be. There was so much good he could do, if only he had the time. Compared to that, what worth could the disgraced heir to a criminal empire possibly have?

And Genji could always read him best, prided himself on it, but the signals Hanzo was sending were purposefully conflicting. It was enough to force him to stop thinking, to rely on instinct when Hanzo charged his position. The resulting clash unleashed a unearthly shriek from their blades. It resembled the tortured cry of a dragon.

To Genji's horror, his spirit reacted to the perceived peril, and acted on its own initiative to surround and empower his blade, "Hanzo,"Genji begged, becoming frantic when he couldn't stop it, "wait!"

But Hanzo had been waiting for this. He took one hand off the hilt of his own weapon, grabbed the katana by its edge, and then plunged it through his chest.

He smiled as the cold fire cut through him, and before Genji could react, snatched the shuriken from his waist, aiming them at the spot in the rafters where the trajectory of the assassin's arrow had revealed their location to be.

A strangled, gurgling cry was preceded by the body of the assassin falling limply from the ceiling. If the fall didn't kill them, then the blood loss from the gash in their throat surely would. At the sight, Hanzo's disturbingly serene smile grew. "They'll have no choice but to accept you now." Now, if Genji chose to abandon the clan and find his own path in life, the Elders would have to send assassins after the only heir left to the Shimada. It wasn't much, but Hanzo had survived it. As long as Genji could live past this night, he was certain he could make it through.

Genji ignored him, too focused on lowering him to the ground and removing the blade penetrating his torso without injuring him any further to register anything else. "Hold on, Hanzo, I'll get you help!"

Hanzo's hand lashed out when he turned to leave, circling around his wrist like a shackle. "Don't!" He wheezed. He'd just killed one of their own. The Elders would not treat such a transgression lightly, not even from the heir. "I'll be okay. I just need you to promise me that you'll leave this place."

The look he received of response was one of utter disbelief. When Genji spoke, however, it was with the lost voice of a child. "But where could I go? Anyone who takes me into their home will be in danger now."

For the first time, Hanzo questioned his decision, but something told him he wasn't going to be getting another shot at this. After sucking in a ragged breath - dragging air into his lungs was taking an increasing amount of effort with each passing second - he squeezed Genji's hand. "Go to Overwatch." He'd planned for this exact question. "Tell them you'll do everything you can to bring down the Shimada." A rueful chuckle escaped him. "I'm sure you can think of a reason why." Even Genji laughed a little. They were both sitting on the floor now, with Genji cradling Hanzo's head against his arm. He'd torn off part of his scarf to wrap around the wound. It wouldn't be enough. "And then… when you're ready... go to Nepal." He allowed his eyes to slip closed in order to focus his remaining energy on gathering the thoughts in his mind before the fragments they were breaking into could scatter beyond his reach. "You'll meet someone there… who can help you."

Something shifted in Genji, then. He stiffened. Hanzo forced his eyes open to see a look of dawning realization pass over him, but more telling was the hard edge of experience now present in his gaze, experience that could only be gained through introspection and pain. "No, this isn't right," he muttered, voice rising. "This isn't what happened." He stared at the red stain spreading through his scarf as though seeing it for the first time. "Hanzo, I'm so sorry!" He pressed against the wound to stem the flow, instinctively trying to save him. "This is all wrong!"

Hanzo didn't want to speak anymore. He wanted to close his eyes, to rest knowing that, even if this wasn't real and the waking world would not change, there was one dream, at least, in which he had saved his brother.

But Genji was still desperately calling for him. It all seemed so uncomfortably familiar, but with his mind fading, it took some time to pinpoint the cause. He laid a calloused palm on Genji's cheek, before rasping, "This was how I felt… when it was you lying here."

Gradually, his vision narrowed to single point of a white, the sound of Genji calling for him becoming distant and muffled, but despite it all, Hanzo could not remember a time when he had felt more at peace...

Hana slammed the decanter from the coffee maker down on the kitchen table. "What's wrong with you two?" She plopped her fists on her hips, staring crossly at each of the Shimada brothers who were slumping in their seats, already exhausted despite having overslept that morning. "You both look like something the cat dragged in, chewed up, and spat out."

"I had a terrible dream last night," Genji groaned through the hands on which his visor rested.

"Really?" Though aware of the dark smudges beneath his eyes, Hanzo made the effort to casually take a bite of his pancakes. "Mine was not so bad."

With an irritated roll of his shoulders, Genji lifted his head to fix him with what was unquestionably a dirty look, then snatched the plate of pancakes out from directly under Hanzo's fork.